


What should I do?

by Redtiger7736



Category: Interview with a Murderer
Genre: (as it the whole plot's misunderstanding), Alternate POV, Canon Compliant, Concerned Jonathan, Introspection (kind of), M/M, Misunderstandings, Sharing a Bed, Spoilers for Ending, Touch-Starved Kister, Unrequited Love, spoilers for episode 67
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:29:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29438298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redtiger7736/pseuds/Redtiger7736
Summary: The sharing a bed scene from Kister's POV.Based on the flashback in chapter 53, set sometime between chapter 37 and 45. Mind the spoiler warning.
Relationships: Jonathan April & Kister | Kister the Slaughterer, Jonathan April/Kister | Kister the Slaughterer
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	What should I do?

**Author's Note:**

> I recently binged reading "Interview with a Murderer" by Queensa and Ppyong and found myself enjoying it immensely. Unfortunately, there is absolutely zero fanfics about it out there! So, I did some writing of my own. If you haven't read the comic, you probably should before you read this (seriously, spoilers). 
> 
> Enjoy the piece!

Kister was tired. So  _ incredibly _ tired, and yet… he couldn’t sleep. Every moment he laid in bed, surrounded by oppressively silent darkness, his mind wandered. To the murder. The knife. Cicero. The threats. Jonathan.

...

_ Jonathan. _

He wondered if he was pushing it too far, was ruining that brightness Jonathan had. He could see the fear in his features all the time. The way he hugged his knees to his chest, curled away from him every chance he got. Sometimes, it was just jumpiness, fun to poke at in a way that would be lighthearted had he been anyone else. But he was Kister the Slaughterer, so it wasn’t. Then sometimes… it was real fear. The fear someone had of a killer. He’d seen it once before, had that face engraved in his memory for all of time. Every time it showed up on Jonathan, he would desperately backpedal, hoping he hadn’t ruined something. Laugh, play it off as a joke, remind Jonathan of their alliance. It had worked, kind of.

For all the threats he had thrown at Jonathan, Kister wanted nothing to do with the blood that would inevitably be on his hands. He wanted nothing more than a moment of kindness, gentleness. Over weeks he had stolen a few moments, under the pretense of possessiveness. A touch, a kiss, a probably vastly inappropriate hickey. They were brief and one-sided, as he expected, but they kept him sane. Saner. He wasn’t sure if he could really be considered sane at this point, carrying on this insane act.

Somehow, Jonathan hadn’t questioned it, hadn’t thought to ask him what the  _ fuck _ was wrong with him, even when they kissed. Maybe he chalked it up to serial killer psychopathy, or maybe he was too scared to ask. Either way, Kister wouldn’t push it. He was walking a delicate line already, he couldn’t afford to reveal too much. 

Tonight was difficult. Exhaustion weighed his limbs down while anxiety thrummed through him like electricity. Things were coming to a head soon, he could feel it. Cicero was getting impatient, and he was restless. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do, what he even  _ could _ do. Could he even do it again? Kill someone? It had torn him up before, but this time…

Sighing, Kister sat up at last, trying to banish the worries from his mind as he scrubbed at his face. He wasn’t getting any sleep at this rate, he was too tense. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself. He would let the act slip just once more, just for the night. Everything ached as he pulled himself up, stepping into the slippers by the couch. Mechanically, he walked to Jonathan’s room, half hoping he was already asleep by now.

The door opened with a click, the light from the living room illuminating Jonathan settled in the bed. He was laying down, but as Kister walked in he bolted upright, tense. Kister kept the frown off his face, but just barely.

“W-what are you doing?” Jonathan looked more nervous than afraid as he approached, which stirred  _ something _ in Kister. He shouldn’t be so comfortable around someone he thought was a serial killer. 

Ignoring Jonathan’s question, Kister crossed to the bed and shucked off his shoes, climbing under the covers in silence. Jonathan made this strange squeaking noise and shifted over.

“You don’t need to give me another hickey,” Jonathan half hissed, shying away from Kister as he settled behind him.

“That’s not what I’m doing, just stay still,” Kister sighed. Jonathan, of course, listened, allowed Kister to curl an arm around him and tuck him under his chin.

Closing his eyes, Kister savored the moment. He could feel the thumping of Jonathan’s heart this close, could smell the shampoo in his hair. The warmth in front of him was soothing, calming the frantic worries of his mind ever so slightly. He could still feel the uncertainty in Jonathan, the way he held himself stiff. Kister tried to banish the impulsive thought to kiss away that fear, knowing it would only bring more in its wake.

“Are you gonna still sleep,” Jonathan asked after a long moment of silence. He sounded more confused than concerned, which was better than Kister had hoped for.

“Yeah,” Kister hummed, voice low, “I deserve a little reward too, don’t I?”

“A reward? You already have everything you want.”

That was a load of bullshit, but only Kister knew it. He didn’t have  _ anything _ he wanted, not really. Cicero was still loose, still threatening Jonathan. Jonathan was still scared of him, still thought he was a killer. He was still alone, standing on a stage in front of a furious crowd. He was the main character now, but at what cost? 

He didn’t say any of this, of course. He couldn’t, not without upturning this whole plan. He would have to let Jonathan believe what he wanted. 

Kister felt the shiver run through Jonathan, though it couldn’t be from cold. Pulling Jonathan closer to his chest, Kister quietly shushed him, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on Jonathan’s arm.

“This isn’t easy for me either.” It was the truth, technically, but he couldn’t explain why. “It’s hard for me too. There are so many things to think about.”

Kister wasn’t sure why he was saying this. It would undoubtedly confuse Jonathan. Still, it was true. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. About everything. Cicero. Jonathan. The knife. The murder. Dammit, he was circling back again. He wasn’t sure what to do anymore. He wasn’t sure he would ever know what to do.

“What do you think I should do?”

It was a stupid question for Kister to pose, one that had Jonathan freezing against his chest. He squeezed gently once again, trying to force some relaxation into Jonathan’s muscles. After a moment, Jonathan relaxed, breathing out a sigh. He didn’t answer though, not that Kister expected him to.

He wanted to end this, so badly. He wanted to be done with the murders and the threats and the violence. He had never wanted it in the first place, had been dragged into it by freakish chance meetings and his own romantic heart. And now he was here, curled against Jonathan, branded a murderer for crimes not his own as he tried to protect the one he loved from his own flesh and blood.

“Heh, stupid question,” Kister murmured at last, just to break the tense silence. 

Kister sighed, tucking his nose against Jonathan’s neck for no other reason than he could. This time, Jonathan only tensed for a moment, relaxing once he realized he was not, in fact, giving him another hickey. They lapsed into silence again, this time more relaxed. Kister felt sleep finally approaching him, even as his thoughts still tried to run a mile a minute. There were so many problems, so many things he couldn’t solve. He still wasn’t sure what he was going to do.

But right now, it didn’t matter. Right now, he could focus on what was before him. The silken hair of Jonathan, wisping into his face. The warmth against his chest, the way his muscles were finally relaxing. He could hear Jonathan’s breathing evening out, bit by bit, as sleep claimed him. He wasn’t far behind, something he couldn’t help but be thankful for. 

His last coherent thought was that he was screwed. 

But right now, it didn’t matter.


End file.
